


Let's Have A Toast For The Douchebags (Five Drinks Mark and Eduardo Shared)

by fairy_tale_echo



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: During Canon, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Canon, Reconciliation, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-01
Updated: 2011-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-16 00:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairy_tale_echo/pseuds/fairy_tale_echo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark takes a long drink and keeps on talking, Eduardo hangs on every word.</p><p>(or: <i>and I know I did damage/'cause the look in your eyes is killin' me</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Have A Toast For The Douchebags (Five Drinks Mark and Eduardo Shared)

_Run away as fast as you can_

Binary and code and beautiful, beautiful strings of numbers run through Mark's head, drowning out all the sound, all the useless chattering around him. He shovels soggy cereal into his mouth as fast as he can so he can get back to his dorm and get back to the code.

"Earth to Zuckerberg," Dustin's voice cuts rudely into his thoughts.

Mark blinks and sees Dustin sit down across the table. He has a new guy with him, an awkward, lanky guy with dark hair and huge eyes. Mark gives a slight wave. "Hey."

"So," Dustin says, pointing to the guy "This is Eduardo. Eduardo, this is Mark."

Eduardo smiles, a huge smile that bends his whole face out of proportion. "So, Dustin tells me you could, like, be a code monkey," he says with a slight note of admiration in his voice.

Mark doesn't know why he starts rambling but he thinks it might have something to do with that admiration.  Out comes all that binary and code and streams of numbers and how he can make them work and what he's going to make them do and why it's so useful and amazing and, as usual, Mark can't stop.

When he pauses to take a breath, he looks to Dustin, zoned out the second the rambling started as usual, and then to Eduardo who is hanging on every word, excitedly nodding his head as if Mark was saying something _important_ and, perhaps weirdest of all, _still freaking grinning._

Mark's throat feels suddenly scratchy and tight.

As he’d only planned to come to the dining hall long enough to get a few bowls of cereal in because his dorm room was ridiculously free of ramen and tuna, his stupid caf tray is empty except for the bowl of cereal.

And then, as if by magic, there is a glass of water on his tray.

"Tell me more," Eduardo says without missing a beat.

Mark takes a long drink and keeps on talking, Eduardo hangs on every word.

 **

  _I don't know what it is with females/but I'm not too good with that shit_

It's a Thursday night and they're out for beers. Why? Because thanks to Mark hacking the DMV they have fake IDs that are totally passable and practically legal, is why. 

Mark and Eduardo are sharing a booth in a little dive bar off campus (that never checked their IDs but that is _so_ not the pont of having them.) and making stupid, nerdy jokes with a bunch of guys (who are 21 and over but are still impressed with the quality of the Mark Zuckerberg fake ID) from AEPi and it feels just like what Eduardo always wanted college to be like.

The AEPi guys bail, but Mark and Eduardo don't care about Friday morning classes, they're riding high on the night.

They leave the booth and head for the bar. "Forget beer," Eduardo says "let's have some _real_ drinks."

Mark waves the bartender over. "Oh barkeep," he says in that voice of his, that voice that Eduardo secretly thrills at, the way it’s smart and mean and somehow secret, "two ... um ..."

He gives Eduardo a sideways glance, filled with laughter. "Wardo, what's a 'real' drink anyway?"

Eduardo feels fizzy with joy and comfort and ridiculousness at standing here at this bar with Mark Zuckerberg: pretending to be 21, biting down laughter, and trying to figure out what a "real" drink is.

"Uhm," Eduardo begins, feeling pleasure tingle through his body.

"Try a scotch on the rocks," says a female voice from a few seats down.

Mark swivels his head to where a petite girl with long brown hair is sitting on a barstool. She smiles at him over the rim of her martini glass.

"It's a very _real_ drink," she promises, nodding with mock solemnity.

"Thanks for the tip ..." Mark trails off, waiting for her name.

"Erica," she says "Erica Albright."

"Barkeep," Mark calls "we'll take two scotch on the rocks."

Eduardo doesn't know if Mark means the second drink is for him or Erica.

He feels strangely deflated.

 **

  _I'm so gifted at findin' what I don't like the most_

Appletinis.

It's so fucking stupid. What is he, Paris Hilton? An appletini. But they don't card them and the way Sean _says_ it, it's the most exciting word Mark has maybe ever heard.  So, yeah, Appletinis sound amazing.

It's too sticky sweet and Mark knows that Wardo will take one sip, grimace and wait for Christy to finish the rest. Mark can't do that, though, because this is Sean Fucking Parker, OK, and if he orders you an Appletini with a smile at the waitress, you should have the fucking decency to drink the damn thing and look like you're _loving_ it.

 _"We don't need him,"_ he hears Wardo's words like a distant echo. Wardo MUST see how wrong he is NOW - now that Sean is here and electrifying this room and making it feel like thefacebook happening in the real world isn't just a possibility, it's an inevitability, now Wardo _absolutely_ must see that they DO need Sean, that Sean is EXACTLY what they need.

(Um, maybe the Appletinis are going to his head a little?)

And this is the part that Wardo would never believe: Mark wants to see Wardo, not Sean, in this second.  He wants to look over and see Wardo _understanding_ what is about to happen to them. Sean is making it thrum, Sean is making it fly, but he and Wardo made it _work_.

So, he looks over at Wardo, ready to see those shining eyes giving him that familiar look of wonder, like Mark is the best thing in the room, and instead he sees him sipping on his Appletini and looking sour and Mark knows it's not because of the taste.

The thoughts tumble all at once: _Fuck_ you _, Wardo. It's YOUR girlfriend that set-up this meeting, YOUR girlfriend who picked these terrible drinks, YOUR girlfriend sitting right between us right this second, so Sean is here and looking at me like I hung the moon and I am a genius and I'm doing something right and so fuck_ you, _Wardo._




 __He knocks back his Appletini and beams back at Sean like he's the only person in the world.

 **

 _and I don't know how Imma manage/if one day you just up and leave_

The depositions never end.

Eduardo thinks that maybe this is one of the circles of Hell Dante never mentioned: sitting every day across a huge table from your ex-best friend as lawyers you are overpaying rehash in excruciating, exacting detail every moment of your ... relationship.

Relationship.

Eduardo doesn't sleep much, maybe an hour or two every night, he can't seem to shake this insomnia. Every morning when he gets ready for another day in hell he ties his tie and looks in the mirror at the circles under his eyes and feels 100 years old and wonders who he is now.

Every day he sits across from Mark in that empty room and realizes everything he had ever been afraid to realize: what they had, whatever complicated, messy thing it was, it was so much more than just a simple friendship.  Now, here they are, stuck: stuck not knowing and stuck in silence and stuck in hell.

 _"Just say sorry. Just apologize,"_ he mentally wills Mark every day in hell, but Mark tries to never meet his eyes and even when he's looking right at him, Eduardo knows he's staring at his forehead or his chin, never into his eyes.

On what feels like the six thousandth day in hell, an executive office assistant pours the morning coffee and, as usual, Eduardo stumbles over for a cup. He watches the girl walk away and feels as if he was never that young. He can’t be more than three years older than her.

Stirring the sugar into his mug he doesn't even notice, at first, that Mark is standing right beside him, reaching for creamer.

Mark NEVER has coffee. Eduardo feels a shock of surprise and he can't quite stop himself from gaping at Mark. Not like Mark is going to meet his eyes.

Until he does.

And they have a split second that feels like an endless moment (it seems that's how time works in hell) and Eduardo sees that Mark has blue-black circles under _his_ eyes too, sees in that way that knows Mark down to his bones that Mark is exhausted too and not just from a coding marathon. Mark looks like ... he's in hell too.

 What a thought.

Then Mark drops his gaze and blows cautiously on his coffee before drinking it. Eduardo has his mouth half open to say ... well, he doesn't know what he will say. Maybe he will ask Mark about their relationship. Yeah, maybe.

He takes a huge, burning gulp of the too-hot coffee instead, letting it scald the top of his mouth.

That's how things should feel, after all, here in hell.

 **

 _now pick your next move, you could leave or live wit' it_

It's funny how it turns out, when you get pretty much exactly what you wanted and could buy a bathtub made of solid gold all by the time you're 26.

Oh, let's face it. You could buy ONE HUNDRED bathtubs made out of solid gold.

Mark knows he did was right for Facebook. Mark also knows that Wardo knows that too, whether he would ever admit it out-loud or even to himself or not. But what was right for Facebook was not having advertisers and looking for big-time angel investors.

He still doesn't know quite how that turned into cutting Wardo completely out.

It just seemed ... safer that way.

One of the most humiliating moments of Mark's life is the night in that shitty rental house when he told Wardo that he needed him. Wardo, standing in front of him soaking wet, had not said anything.  His face had gone blank and pale and Mark had instantly wished for those stupid, weak words back; he felt sheer panic and shame clutch at his stomach.

Anyway, the point is Mark could buy solid gold bathtubs and he's got exactly what he wanted and is, unquestionably, very, very safe.

He gives away a lot of money and that's the way he likes it but that also means he ends up attending more ridiculous black-tie-billionaire-hand-shaking-mixers-parties-receptions-thank yous than he would have ever guessed even existed. Sometimes he brings beautiful models, sometimes he brings Dustin and Chris, and sometimes he brings his iPhone.

He never (and he means it never) looks for Eduardo because he never expects him to show up and, anyway, what would he care if he did?

And then, two years after the hell of the lawsuit, there is Wardo: standing across the room and Dustin exhales hard and pretends to not notice how Mark looks at his feet.

Mark doesn't know what to do, so he does something entirely out of character for him. He does nothing.  Nothing out of the ordinary, he promises himself, just act naturally.  (Whatever that means.)

An hour. He'll stay an hour and that's that. Mingle, make small talk, pretend he doesn't know Dustin has snuck off to catch up with Wardo, randomly give some food bank out in Stockton two million dollars after chatting with its director. A normal night out.

One drink, just to prove how normal and fine and steady he is. One glass of champagne.

"Oh barkeep," he hears a voice behind him say and he refuses to believe this is happening.

But, no, it is. Because there, sidling up next to him, is Wardo. Mark can't describe the aching in his stomach so he doesn't think about it. He doesn't want to look, but he does.

Wardo. It's _really_ Wardo. Years after that first meeting, he looks less awkward, less like he's made up entirely of angles and Mark stupidly wonders if he still has that ridiculous smile.

Mark doesn't know what to say, but just as he's about to open his mouth and say something, anything, Wardo says, "So, I hear you're, like, a code monkey."

And Mark, he can't help it, he _laughs_. He realizes his hand is kind of shaking and he's clutching at the champagne flute so hard he thinks he might snap it in two, but he fucking _laughs_.  It feels good.

"Hey ... Eduardo," he says, the first syllable feels foreign and clunky in his mouth.

They lock eyes and Mark thinks of the last time he'd been brave enough to look into Wardo's eyes, that brief second during the hell of the deposition, and he sees no more of the exhaustion and hopelessness. He sees something, well, new.  Something he thinks he’s maybe never seen before.

Wardo has picked up a glass of champagne from the long line on the bar and he holds it out to Mark. With a supreme force of will, Mark lifts his glass up and keeps his hand from shaking. He hears the clink of their champagne flutes and takes a nervous swallow in time with Wardo.

"What are we toasting to?" Mark asks, afraid of the answer.

"We're toasting to,” Wardo pauses and looks as if he’s carefully considering his answer “not wasting any more of our lives on anger, bitterness, and regret.  Especially," he takes a drink of champagne and holds Mark’s eyes “especially to no more regret.”

This is sentimental crap, useless platitudes, as impractical as a solid gold bathtub, and somehow the _best_ thing Mark as ever heard.

That must be why he blurts it out. That _must_ be. "I'm sorry, Wardo. I really am sorry and I know that doesn’t _mean_ anything, objectively speaking, but I-I-"

Wardo puts down his champagne flute and looks right at Mark, looks at him in a way that makes Mark squirm, but not exactly in a bad way. He reaches out and for a wild moment, Mark thinks he's gonna cup the side of his face in the palm of his hand which, on the one hand, suddenly seems unbelievably perfect and, on the other hand, insanely inappropriate.

Instead, Wardo reaches out and takes Mark's glass from his hand, setting it down on the bar. Mark has to stop himself from reaching out for Wardo.  He clenches his hand into a loose fist at his side instead.

Wardo takes a deep, shuddery breath and says, "Mark, that was all I ever really needed to hear."

And then?

Then he fucking smiles that Wardo smile, that same huge smile from the first day in the cafeteria, and Mark feels joy and hope clutch at his stomach and he feels like maybe, just maybe, he can get exactly what he's always wanted.

"Wardo, you wanna get out of here?"

Wardo nods, his gaze on Mark hooded and dark and Mark thinks/hopes/prays he knows what that means.

Without another word, Mark reaches out for Wardo, wrapping his fingers softly (but firmly) around Wardo’s wrist and pulls him out, out into the world.

**

 _Later that night, in between frentic, hot kisses, greedy hands and mouths everywhere, their bodies pressed tightly together as they stumble their way to Mark's bed, Mark will say the other words: "I still need you, Wardo. That night, in the rental house when you flew in I meant it and I - I should have ..."_

 _And Mark thought he had all of Wardo's smiles memorized, but he's never seen this one before: this lazy, sweet, promising smile. "I'm here for you," he whispers into Mark's ear and Mark feels that same shiver he felt the last time he heard that response from Wardo, back in his dorm the night FaceMash was born._

 _The shiver that tells him something_ great _is about to happen._

 _\--  
Mark wakes up in the middle of the night and pads to the kitchen. He's not restless or tired, really. He just feels ... _happy _? (But that doesn’t begin to do justice to the feeling he’s feeling.  There might not be a word for it.)_

 _Wardo rolls over when he comes back into the bedroom and says "Mark?" in a sleepy, satisfied tone Mark is never going to get tired of._

 _"Hey," Mark says "I brought us some water. I thought we could use a drink."_

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the title and section headings for this are all from (the complete version of) Kanye West's epic _[Runaway](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bm5iA4Zupek)_ , which is a really good Mark Zuckerberg song, you guys. This is one of my first pieces in this fandom and it was written for a five things prompt over at the kink_meme. I never heard back from the OP, but I hope s/he likes it!


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